


Little Things

by autumnmycat



Series: Viciile de Dragoste [2]
Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Childhood Trauma, Depression, F/F, F/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Survivor Guilt, im going to force trevor to deal with his emotions whether he wants to or not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 03:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17993918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnmycat/pseuds/autumnmycat
Summary: Trevor's life has been looking up since Dracula's death with the whole new girlfriend thing and all. Yet, nothing feels right. He thinks that maybe it's just the little inconveniences of life that's bringing him down, that it's just the monotony. But, seeing his friend in the depths of despair might convince him that he, too, is as sad as Sypha thinks he is.





	Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> well im back...i think. i still don't really know where i'm going with this story besides having it intersect with viziune, so bear with me okay? i want this fic to be more ot3 focused, I know that much. and i know that i want to have trevor reflect on his own trauma after having to deal with alucard's (and alucard having to deal with his severely untreated ptsd lol) anyway sorry that i want to do character studies of everyone, i just love my children so much
> 
> but also i dont think you *need* to read my previous story to get this one because its supposed to be the flip side of alucard's experience, so yeah I might skim over some stuff, but since there was so much time where he was out of it, it's going to be more new stuff than recapping, also its going to have events from after the fic soooo it can stand alone but viziune is my baby so u should definitely read it for my ego's sake

There were no official proclamations at first, but they both knew that this was their honeymoon. 

When she’d proposed he be her traveling partner (he was still a little pissed he didn’t get first billing, but he really couldn’t complain when she curled into his side as they looked off into the sunset), he felt something warm bloom from somewhere inside his chest, and he vaguely wondered if this feeling was love.

It would be ridiculous to imply that they weren't at least _interested_  in each other _._ There had been too many times when their lighthearted conversations had devolved into shameless flirting and strange mixed up sensations in his chest. It was weird because Trevor had never felt this way about anything or anybody, but Sypha was just…well, she was a lot. 

She was pretty for one thing. Someone might even call her beautiful. And, she was smart and witty and had a fire inside of her that was attractive in a different sort of way than her face. She was everything that Trevor wanted even though he hadn’t even known he’d wanted it. He guessed that was what people meant by “love finds you,” as ridiculous as that sounded.

That word. He didn’t really like it. “Love” sounded foreign to him. When was the last time he’d consciously thought about that feeling? When had he ever wanted to? It was a complicated and messy emotion, and it usually left him feeling alone, which also brought up some thoughts that he wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with. It was easier to stay in the moment and look at Sypha’s glowing smile and the way her strawberry blonde hair was blown by the wind when she turned to look at him.

He wasn’t alone anymore.

(Something else tapped at the back of his of his mind, like a knock on a door or the sound of heels clicking on the floor. _Tap, tap, tap_. Someone was knocking against his brain, but he didn’t want to think about it because it might make him feel worse than he already did.)

Sypha was an explosion of joy in his life. It wasn’t until he felt it that he realized he hadn’t felt honest joy in the longest time. The way that he felt when he was with her felt so new and exciting, and he was so happy that he had all the time in the world to explore her and each other.

There was something beautiful about women, how their bodies were soft and curved and how their faces were pretty and gentle. It was starkly opposed to men who were pointy and rough and ugly. Well, not every man was ugly, and he certainly didn’t mind the faces and bodies of some, but Sypha was _gorgeous_.

Okay, the amount of gushing he was doing—even in his own mind—was making him sick. He always hated people like them— _happy people_. He never understood what they did to deserve it, but here he was, arm in arm with Sypha, and he kind of got it. It still made him feel weird though. 

She’d mentioned wanting to get into trouble with him, but there wasn’t much trouble to be had. Things had calmed down for the most part since Dracula’s death, so it wasn’t like there were any night hordes or anything. But, because there were various odd and end jobs to be done that made use of either Trevor’s hunting or Sypha’s magic, they began to be known around Wallachia for their specialties, which was nice because they could really use the coin.

So, they were together and were making a name for themselves. Everything should have been fine.

But, things weren’t fine. Not really anyway.

 

* * *

 

It was the little things that brought him down. 

The weather. The way the sun was too bright at high noon. The way it was hard to move the body when he had a few too many.

There was nothing wrong. There was nothing ever wrong. His circumstances were good, great even. He had a new girlfriend—practically a new life—but, it didn’t feel right. Something nagged at him. It was something inside him, somewhere deep down in his stomach. It knotted up and made him feel like he was going to vomit. It made his heart rate pick up even though there was nothing to fear. He didn’t remember this happening before the fight, before he had a goal in life. 

So, he blamed it on the little things. The cost of ale. How much horses ate. How tired he was. 

“Have you had trouble sleeping?” Sypha asked curiously.

“I always have trouble sleeping,” he said, putting a bottle of mead to his lips and taking a decent swig. “I either can’t fall asleep, or once I fall asleep, something goes bump in the night and I’m wide awake. That’s one of the reasons I drink, helps me get a decent night's sleep.”

She watched him take another sip.

“I see,” she said absentmindedly, like she was cataloging that fact for another time. She leaned back and her fingers laced between the blades of grass from the field they were resting in. “Y’know, you’re cute when you’re drunk.” 

He paused, mead half way between his face and the ground. “Yeah?”

“Yes, your cheeks get so flushed. And, your smile is goofy.” She giggled softly as Trevor put the back of his palm to his cheek. It certainly felt warmer than normal.

“So, by cute, you mean stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” she said earnestly through a big smile. “That’s why I said ‘ _cute._ ’ I don’t say things I don’t mean.” 

Trevor grumbled into his drink, wishing that his friends didn’t get such a kick out of making fun of him. It was the thing about being drunk he really liked. Booze was a friend who hurt him, but predictably so. Humans were much more prone to blindsiding him, to leave him when he needed the company.

So, it was only proper that the only thing that Trevor liked more than Sypha was alcohol.

Well, not alcohol because alcohol was evil if hangovers were anything to go by, but he loved drinking. Ugh, God, a good mug of shitty beer at the end of the day was always just what he needed. It was the perfect method to unwind and forget.

But, then, Trevor had to think about exactly what he was trying to forget. 

Sypha’s voice rang in his head—( _You’ve been sad for so long that you don’t realize how sad you really are._ )

The thing was he didn’t feel sad. He just felt normal.  

But, normal didn’t really feel like anything. It was just kind of bland. You woke up, you did stuff, you go to sleep. Then, you do it all over again. Drinking was the highlight of his day, the streak of happiness to spice up the monotony. That wasn’t sadness—that was just being bored.

There was something to be said about how much he drank and how often he did because that was certainly not normal, or at least, that was what Sypha was most concerned about.

And, to be fair, he had been drinking a lot lately. He wasn’t exactly sure why that was the case, but in each new town they visited, he always begged Sypha to have a few drinks at the tavern. She would usually say yes, but when it was becoming basically every night, she’d started to get prickly over it.

“You do realize you’re going to keel over one of these days, right?”

Trevor hung in the doorway of the inn room they had rented for the night, a frown on his face.

“We all die sometime.”

Sypha put her hands on her hips and scowled.

“I don’t like when you talk like that. And, I don’t like that you seem to be unable to go a day without ale.” 

“I _can_ go a day. I can go many days, and you’ve seen me do it. I just don’t _want_ to.” 

“So, it’s not a physiological addiction, it’s psychological. Which, doesn’t make it better.”  


“I don’t have an addiction,” Trevor scoffed. “I’m just bored.” 

She pulled out all the stops and hit him below the belt (figuratively, thankfully).

“You’re bored traveling with me?”

Oof. With the pout and everything. She sure knew where to poke sharp stick.

“No, of course not,” he said, walking forward and putting his hands on her shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. “It’s not you. Don’t you know? I’m always bored.”

“Ah, so you’re just apathetic about traveling with me.” 

“ _No._ Jesus, Sypha. You’re the only part of my life that’s not boring.” He released her so he could cross his arms and quirk his eyebrow. “Or, rather, besides the vampire hunting and all.” 

She sighed, “I know. I just worry, Trevor. You can’t treat sadness with alcohol. That’s just running away from it.”

“Look, I’m not sad. You keep saying I’m sad, but I’m not sad.”

“I’m not having this argument right now, Belmont,” she said, holding up a hand and looking away. 

Trevor knew he fucked up when she reverted to his family name.

“Fine. I’ll be at the bar, then,” he turned and passed through the doorway.

Sypha let out a dismissive, “Mm-hmm,” before he closed the door.

 

* * *

 

Bars were all the same.

Wooden, crowded/empty, and foul smelling. Trevor felt sorry for the bartender who had to clean bodily fluids abound.

The whole thing had turned into a bit of a habit. If it was crowded, sit at a table in the corner. If it was empty, sit at the bar. Drown himself in ale. It was lucky that there was so much work for them because if he was just going on his normal coin, he would have probably run himself dry.

And, that may have been why his drinking had picked up so much. Well, one of the reasons, at least. He had the means to drink So Much. 

It also felt good, though. It felt good to get belligerently drunk because it was bad to do so, and that made him feel good.  

Wait. That made him feel good? Uh…

Okay, now that he was thinking about it, that was a kinda fucked up way to think about it. Or, was he fucked up for feeling good at his own destruction? That was the closest he’d gotten to feeling like he might be sad after all.

But, he didn’t feel sad. He just didn’t. Sypha kept telling him over and over that he was sad, and he just wasn’t. They had gotten into spats about it, but lately, Sypha had been unwilling to discuss it. Maybe she figured that he had to discover it himself, and she probably wasn’t wrong about that. Trevor was just waiting around to feel sad. Then, he’d apologize and tell her that he was wrong, and they could stop bickering over it. 

With the stein pressed to his lips, he tried to remember which round this was. Ten? Twelve? Didn’t matter. He didn’t feel like stopping. Lately, he’d been marking his cutoff point when he couldn’t see the bartender straight or if his vision started doubling. 

The only part about drinking alone and not with Sypha was that he had no one to distract him from the thoughts in his head. They always liked to rear their heads and stick around when he was alone. There wasn’t even anything specific. It was anything. And, that was another reason he wanted to drink so much. It numbed him in a different way than the numbness he usually felt.

There was something about numbing—numbing what _that_ was. It felt good to the point where it made drinking until he could barely stand feel good. When you can have a momentary reprieve from that constant aching inside you, that brand of self-destruction feels good.

So, it wasn’t about being sad. It was about dealing with it all. Dealing with life and how grueling it was. That wasn’t on him, though. His childhood had very literally gone up in flames, and he had to bear the elements on his own for a good twenty years or so, and that was difficult to do and difficult to deal with.

As he started on his fifteenth ale, he had to admit to himself that Sypha loving him as she did kind of made him feel bad, in a way. Like drinking himself to death felt good, sometimes being treated well made him feel bad. It was strange, and he mostly pushed it down, but having someone care for him meant he had to care about himself, and he really didn’t have the energy to do that.

Dealing with it. Dealing with it took energy. All his energy. He couldn’t deal with himself because he didn’t have the energy.

He’d lost track of the ales. It didn’t matter anyway.

“One more round, please,” he said to the bartender who was giving him a scowl. 

“Yer not gettin’ another ale, ye fuckin’ drunkard. Ye just threw up on me floor.” 

Trevor looked over his shoulder to see regurgitated piss beer all over the place. Funny. He didn’t remember doing that. 

“My apologies. I should probably see myself out, then.”

“The fuck you should.”

Trevor hadn’t realized he’d gotten to the point where he could barely walk, but he walked out of the tavern, only to tip sideways and unceremoniously slam against the ground. If he hadn’t already thrown up, that definitely would have forced him to do so since the impact made his entire body lurch, his stomach included, but he ended up just laying there to get his head to stop spinning.

The snow was cold, but the warmth that the alcohol had sparked in his body made that cold feel good. It was comforting almost. And, he had forgotten that snow was so soft, like a pillow. He’d fallen into fluff. 

_Poof_.

That was the last thought he could remember until he woke up in bed the next morning.

 

* * *

 

Everything hurt. Like, really hurt. His skin felt like it was burning.

He hissed, opening his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. His fingers were numb, and his brain felt stunted, covered in a thick fog. That fog told him to go back to sleep because, ugh, God, he felt so totally exhausted.

But, there was that pain, and that pain wasn’t right. He knew that even though he was dreadfully hungover. He opened and closed his hand, but it was laborious, and it felt like pins and needles had stuck into him, almost like they were waking up from being asleep or frozen— 

Oh, yeah. 

He’d fallen asleep in the snow.  

Holy Shit, how was he alive? Or, rather, how did he not have frostbite? He either must have gotten himself home somehow or someone found him and lugged him back before he had a chance to freeze to death.

A sliver of sunlight sneaked through a crack in the curtains, one that sliced the room in two pieces. That was when Trevor realized he was alone. There was no one else with him.

Something heavy descended on him, a deep wave of discomfort that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. It was a familiar feeling, a ‘ _why do I bother_ ’ kind of feeling. He was alone (even though he wasn’t really), and he was tired (even though he’d been sleeping for many hours), and the days ahead of him stretched into an uncomfortably long length (even though he had no way of knowing exactly how many days he had left). 

That was the feeling he had been trying to chase away. That feeling. The complete and utter visceral dread of knowing that he was still here on this earth and there was nothing he could do about it but continue to drudge forward. To continue to cope. To continue to get through it all.

He felt like he ought to keep exploring that line of thought, but that was when he heard the door open. He should have felt better to have company, but even when Sypha was in the room, sometimes he still felt like he was alone. There was some unquantifiable distance between the two of them even when they were laying in each other’s arms. Trevor didn’t know what it was. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

Sypha stood with a mix of relief and annoyance on her face. He wasn’t sure how she was able to do that, but she was a woman of many talents. It might have been that her eyebrows were tensed in a concerned way, but her mouth was pursed into a thin line, and Trevor knew he was in for some kind of lecture. 

Trevor sat up in bed and said, “Good morning,” in an effort to lighten the mood. Sypha just raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, but you wouldn’t know that, would you?”

The tension in her tone made Trevor reflexively apologize.

“Do you know what you’re sorry for?”

It wasn’t a taunt—in fact, Sypha sounded completely serious. Maybe she thought he didn’t remember. Well, he didn’t remember some of the night, but what he did know was enough to warrant an apology. 

“Something about falling into the snow,” Trevor frowned. “And, by the way my hands feel, staying there for a bit.”

“Yes, a bit.” As she walked closer, it became clearer to him that she was more worried than she was angry, but by the way she crossed her arms and sighed, he knew he wasn’t getting off the hook. “Trevor.”

(He loved the way his name sounded when it was tied up in her accent.)

“Yes…?”

“I woke up in the middle of the night to see you hadn’t come back. And, then I became worried because who knows what could have happened to you. You know how you get when you’ve been drinking—what if you had become involved with a bar fight or you were stabbed in an alley or—”

“Don’t you think that’s a tad extreme?” he asked, knowing it was far closer to the truth than he wanted to admit but having it all laid out in front of him wasn’t the most pleasant thing in the world. 

“ _No_ , I don’t.” She began gesticulating in what she probably wanted to be an angry manner, but she was giving off a more manic impression. “And, then, I go out only to find you passed out for who knows long when it’s this cold, and I—”

She took a moment to collect herself, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose as she sighed. When she had called down, she sat beside him on the bed, crossing her legs and arms and staring at the bedsheets.

“I don’t mean to come off as nagging or cruel—” she turned her head to meet his gaze, “—I’m just worried.”

When Sypha reached out and grasped his hands that were still too cold, she had finally given up on looking annoyed, and instead seemed as worried as her words betrayed. 

And, okay, to be fair, she had a bit of a point. Regular amounts of drinking do not cause someone to be able to sleep in freezing temperatures, and yes, he could have become very ill, but it all seemed inconsequential to him. He should have been worried about himself, but he wasn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, not knowing what else to say. 

“You say that a lot, but you don’t change your actions.” 

He couldn’t deny that. He kept saying sorry but had no intention of actually doing anything different. If not for the fact that Sypha was breathing down his neck, he wouldn’t have even let the thought of behaving differently enter his mind. He was quite fine with his circumstances.

Trevor kept silent.

“When I said last night that your drinking is a problem, I meant it. You’re extremely emotionally constipated, and not allowing yourself to process whatever is bothering you is not doing anyone any favors.” 

The tiny snicker and one-liner popped out of his mouth before he could even realize he had thought it. 

“At least that’s the only way I’m constipated.” 

Even if he hadn’t known that it was the wrong reaction, Sypha’s scowl and retraction of her hands would have told him so.

“Sorry, that was—”

“Inappropriate? Yes.” She got up from the bed again, pacing back and forth, wringing her hands like she often did when she was upset or nervous or agitated. “I’m trying to have an honest conversation with you for once.” She stopped walking and faced him, hands out in front of her in a pleading gesture. “ _Please_ , can you just be honest with me _for once?_ ”

It wasn’t just her hands that plead with him. Her eyes did, too. They begged him to meet her halfway, but because he couldn’t, he remained quiet.

“Trevor, you could have _died_. Don’t you see how that’s an issue?”

“No, because I don’t care.”  

Once the words left his mouth, he instantly realized why that was an issue.

“This is what I mean,” Sypha said. “You constantly say you’re not sad, and then in the next breath, you say, ‘I don’t care if I die.’ What am I supposed to think? Do you not want me to be worried?”

It wasn’t the first time that the thought had crossed his mind. In some twisted way, her worry wasn’t appreciated. Her worry made him feel bad for not worrying about himself, so he wished she would stop altogether. But, saying that out loud felt pretty messed up.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to worry about me,” he said, looking down at the floor, “I’d rather you not have to worry at all, is what I meant.” 

“Well, I’m going to be worried if you keep engaging in this type of behavior.”

“Yeah, I know.”

All the unpleasant feelings stirred around in him and made him feel nauseous. Or maybe that was the hangover.

“That’s it? You know?”

“Yeah.”

Sypha growled in frustration, turned around and left the room with a slam of the door.

Trevor was left alone. Like he always had been and always would be. 

Tired and cold, he laid down and pulled the blankets up to his ears. He couldn’t feel bad about ruining everything he touched if he was asleep.

 

* * *

 

Sometime in those months of aimless self-destruction, it dawned on him that he couldn’t remember the last time he cried. He hadn’t even had the _urge_ to cry in so long. It was like the ability was lost to him.

But, anger—anger flared up very easily.

He didn’t always express it because sometimes it wasn’t appropriate to do so. 

(A voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Alucard said something to the effect of, _Shocker! You actually do know what is and isn’t appropriate, hm? Then, what’s your excuse for acting like such an ignorant buffoon?_ )

He could get angry at his own mind. That, he did a lot. 

Because, really, he didn’t know why he acted like he did, besides enjoying getting a rise out of people. However, it was a different story when he was trying to be helpful and comfort Sypha, for example, but then, he’d hit a brick wall and then all the words that fell out of his mouth sounded wrong and stupid. 

(How does one offer sympathy and comfort to another person without it feeling like the most foreign experience possible?)

Trevor wished he could ask these questions, but he was afraid to be met with the same answer he was always given, and that didn’t really help him much at this point.

The idea that something about him wasn’t right was beginning to sound more and more true. He was an asshole, and he knew it, but he didn’t know why. He came off as gruff and uncaring even though he cared a lot about a lot of things. He knew he was empathetic because he could sense what other people were feeling, but for some reason, the connection between his brain and his mouth had been separated so that nothing he did was ever helpful or okay.

Everything felt bad, especially recently now that he was thinking about all this shit. It reminded him of how long he’d been dealing with it all. 

Dealing with it. Dealing with it all. Dealing with it all was so hard. 

Maybe it should have been easier now that they were living casually without the fear of death over their head, but somehow, without the possibility of a lethal battle, it felt that much more crushing to wake up every day, participate in life, and then go back to sleep only to do it all again.

There was no end in sight. He had to go on indefinitely. And, that made him feel like shit.

However, there were days where he couldn’t deal with it all.

He couldn’t get out of bed. He would lay in the few blankets that they had and sleep for hours upon hours. Sypha would try to rouse him, but after a few minutes of sitting up and trying to find the motivation to move, he’d have to lay back down because he was just so tired.

At first, Trevor was pretty sure that Sypha thought he was being lazy or negligent or something, but as these episodes continued to happen, hopefully, she had gotten the message that this wasn’t his choice. Sometimes she’d join him, curling around him in an attempt to comfort him—not that he needed it. He was just tired. Really tired. Much too tired.

But, they were just spells of some sort because he’d wake up one morning and feel fine. Totally rested. It just took three days to do so, which didn’t feel like it should be normal, but it was his normal, so he accepted it.

He’d always just accepted that everything about himself was okay. He was okay. He was okay. There was nothing wrong. He was okay.

(Sypha sounded more right every day that went by. He was decidedly not okay. Something was _wrong_ , but he didn’t know what and didn’t know how to fix it. But, it was wearing on him. The days where he had no energy grew longer. Even his new found romance with Sypha couldn’t make it go away.) 

How could he get it to stop? How could he pull out whatever was inside him and strangle the life out of it so he could go back to being himself? 

But, really, what even was himself? He’d been like this for so long, he couldn’t really remember the _before_ , if there was any before in the first place. If he went back to normal, who would he even be?

The question was too monumental to answer. Trevor decided to box it away and shove it in the corner of his mind. After all, thinking about it was making him sad, and he had to continue to convince himself that he wasn’t sad.

 


End file.
